


A Borrowed Interlude

by samedifference61



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Daddy Kink, M/M, Pre-TFA, boys in lingerie, galactic booty call, ish, the best crack ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-24 17:23:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14360088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samedifference61/pseuds/samedifference61
Summary: Written forlingeriewarsweek: Day 4: rosy pink/peachHux doesn’t dare look at the color, not here, not yet—but he wants to, only second to feeling it slide along his skin.“Do you like it?” Dameron asks, voice pitched lower, and Hux can’t look at him—won’t, because he knows what kind of suggestive, half-lidded leer he’ll receive in return.





	A Borrowed Interlude

**Author's Note:**

> so...gingerpilot happened. I'd describe their dynamic as 2 parts porn and 1 part sexual innuendo. I am (not) sorry.

“Do you have what I need, or not?” Dameron holds up the silver data chip the size of his fingernail, smiling with entirely too much bravado. “Because this contains exactly what you want.”

“I have it.” Hux produces a data chip of his own and places it on the cantina table between them. “Why are you looking for this man?”

Hux gets the impression this trade of intelligence between their respective corners of the galaxy is far from even, but he still has a choice in giving up what Dameron wants. Hux had never heard of this man Dameron is looking for, someone by the name of Lor San Tekka. With what Hux could gather, it seems he’s an aging Jedi sympathizer and a grifter. The kind of loathsome wanderer existing without purpose in the Jedi’s absence.

“I’ll tell you why,” Dameron draws out, flipping the data chip between his fingers, teasing. “When you tell me why _you_ need access to Empire construction droid schematic diagrams.”

“Because I don’t have access to them,” Hux answers. It is true. The fledgling First Order doesn’t have access to old Empire records, and everything they do have was taken back from the New Republic in some way. What he doesn’t say is this information will likely cut their estimated time of completion for Starkiller in half. “I’m building a prototype droid and it’s easier to use working documents than to start from nothing. Those schematics never belonged to the Republic.”  

“Right.” Dameron rolls his eyes in disagreement.

Dameron is no friend to the New Republic either and is never shy about goading Hux into debating their opposing political viewpoints. He usually wears his disdain for the former glory of the Empire on his sleeve, but he doesn’t push Hux on it this time. He must be after something else requiring Hux’s good mood first.

As if on cue, Dameron slides a small, lumpy package wrapped in brown paper and tied together with red string across the cantina table. Hux leans back, eyeing the package with suspicion. This isn't part of their agreed exchange. If it contains what Hux thinks it does—

Dameron raises his eyebrows suggestively. “Got you something else to remind you of me when I’m across the galaxy.”

Yes, it’s definitely what Hux thinks it is. Even as his cheeks start to color with Dameron’s sudden shift toward the familiar, he hisses, “I told you not to bring me any more.”

It's hard enough trying to hide the gifts Dameron has already given him. The more he has, the more difficult they are to conceal, and the greater the chance of getting caught with them in his possession. These gifts are never anything Hux would have access to in the Unknown Regions, and go against the Order’s philosophy of rejecting personal effects or keeping objects of emotional value.

“Yeah, and when have I ever listened to you in the past?”

Unconcerned, Dameron stretches his neck and puts the data chip back into the interior pocket of his worn leather jacket. The cocky smile has softened into something more dangerous, something that never fails to get under Hux’s skin.

 _Never listened. Not once_ , Hux doesn’t say, still eyeing the package. He won’t deny his curiosity. Dameron is consistently good at surprising him with these gifts, regardless of how often Hux reminds him not to bring them.

Dameron tips his chin toward the package. “Go on. I know that’s what you really came here for.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Hux denies, but slides the package closer. The back alley cantina where they’re huddled is crowded during the midday meal rush, so Hux won’t be able to take the contents out of the wrapping, but he can’t wait either, anticipation already taking hold.

Hux unties the string first, then slips his fingers under the seam separating the two halves of the paper, gently breaking the sealed adhesive connecting the two flaps.

When he reaches inside, the fabric is soft to the touch, silky and thin. Hux runs it between thumb and forefinger and imagines it to be a gauzy, transparent material, something thin enough to show everything beneath. It was probably smuggled from the exotic Inner Rim trade markets of Naboo. Dameron teased about being there in his last encrypted message, three days ago. Hux doesn’t dare look at the color, not here, not yet—but he wants to, only second to feeling it slide along his skin.

“Do you like it?” Dameron asks, voice pitched lower, and Hux can’t look at him— _won’t,_ because he knows what kind of suggestive, half-lidded leer he’ll receive in return.

“It’s adequate,” Hux whispers to the tabletop, trying not to be obvious about surveying their surroundings for anyone giving them extra attention.

Dameron huffs out a laugh and leans back, taking a sip from his oversized caf. Careful to let Hux linger in his own thoughts, Dameron shakes his head in disbelief when he puts the mug down again.  

“You know I’ve gotten pretty good at reading you in the last two years. You never say what you mean, and it used to frustrate the kriffing starlight out of me, but now? It’s actually kinda cute.”

Hux raises one eyebrow. “Cute?”

Slowly, Dameron pushes the ceramic pot of caf aside and slides forward on his elbows until he’s close enough to speak soft, conspiring words only meant for the two of them.

“You heard me." Eyes never straying, Dameron picks at the string on the package.

While Hux is too stubborn to look away, he does tilt his chin in defiance.

Dameron unwinds the string from the package, brushing past Hux’s fingers still hidden beneath the paper. Hux wishes they were tucked in the back of this cantina, not near the door where a pair of twi'leks are chatting just beyond Dameron’s shoulder, near enough to hear this, to _see_ this.

Dameron weaves the bit of string around Hux’s middle finger, wrapping it in slow, even coils from knuckle to tip.

“Listen, babe,” he begins, and Hux knows whatever he’s about to say is going to make Hux hard, and Hux— _Sith hells_ , he wants to lean into it, soak up every syllable, drunk on the cadence of this infuriating man’s voice. “I’ve got four standard hours left on this sad excuse for an outpost before my people start looking for me, and—” he pauses to tie the string into a tiny, efficient bow, securing it around Hux’s finger. “I plan to spend every second of those four hours pounding your _cute_ ass while you’re wearing this pretty new outfit. Does that sound _adequate_ to you?”

Instead of answering aloud, Hux wraps two fingers around Dameron’s and holds his gaze.

* * *

Fraternizing in secret with one of General Organa’s rebels could ultimately get one or both of them killed. Dameron knows this. Hux knows this and reminds both of them often. They watch what they say to each other, only giving specific bits of information—and this part is always only about sex anyway. These are the usual lines running through Hux’s head before he drops everything to trail across the galaxy to meet Dameron, and this time is no different.

Neither of them are delusional about how this will probably end.

Hux hasn’t put the gift on yet, is still admiring its golden rosy sheen on the refresher counter with all of his same clothes on from the cantina. He fingers the curve of the fabric, the delicate stitching along the bodice, the empire waist and thin straps. It’s almost too pretty to wear. Almost.

Hux wonders if he could be so bold to wear it under his clothes when he leaves for the transport. Maybe just the panties.

Arriving at the guest house room exactly ten minutes later, Dameron enters the room and shoves the refresher door open wide open to reveal Hux standing at the counter.

“Show daddy,” he teases, stretching wide to remove his black undershirt. His outer tunic, jacket, and boots are already absent, probably carelessly strewn about the room. Hux sighs. Getting Dameron to take anything slow is always a chore.

“You know that does nothing for me,” Hux says. Dameron’s fascination with getting Hux to call him _daddy_ usually leaves him rolling his eyes or laughing, unable to take any of it seriously. He’s beginning to suspect this is the real reason Dameron does it. Also, Hux slipped up one time and actually _did_ call him _daddy_. Hux can hardly take responsibility for his actions while Dameron is balls deep inside of him.

“Yes, well. I certainly indulge you. So you could return the favor once in a while.”

Dameron stands behind Hux, grinds his erection into Hux's backside while biting at his shoulder.

They are a sight in the broad mirror over the double sink, everything contrasting—hair, skin, height, body type, and most obvious of all—persuasion tactics.

“Up,” Dameron commands, impatient with Hux’s wavering indecision. Hux frowns but lifts his arms so Dameron can peel off the jacket and white, regulation undershirt.

And this, Hux thinks manically, is where they meet in spite of those differences. Skin against skin.

With his arms still around Hux, Dameron lifts the gift with little care and examines it, deciding how it must go on. There are little snaps at the back that he pulls apart, and a bow at the neck to create a halter.

“Careful,” Hux warns, taking hold of Damerons’ wrist when he pulls the bow too quickly, not wanting it ruined before they’ve even begun.

Dameron only gives him a knowing smile and raises his eyebrows to indicate Hux should hold the front of it to his bare chest. Dameron wraps it around his torso, and Hux holds it in place, heart beating fast while he snaps it down the back and ties it at Hux’s neck. It’s a little irritating to have him make quick work of something Hux probably would have taken another ten minutes to savor, but he holds still anyway.

When Hux catches Dameron staring, and Hux shys away, shivering.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Hux begs and concentrates on smoothing the sheer fabric down his front, already hard from the feel of it, from Dameron's eyes on him while he does it.

“Turn around, gorgeous,” Dameron purrs, and pushes until Hux turns, leaning against the counter with both hands while Dameron kneels. He presses a kiss to Hux’s belly before he eases his boots off, follows closely with Hux’s trousers and socks. The briefs are last, leaving Hux’s erection to tent the front of the babydoll, brushing against the soft material. It’s enough to get Hux to push forward with his hips, encouraging.

Grinning but not touching yet, Dameron reaches up for the second piece of his gift, a pair of thong panties in the same shade of blush with golden thread along the seams.

Gently, Dameron takes Hux’s ankle in hand and eases Hux’s feet into the panties before slowly pulling them up his legs. It's strange. Having Dameron dress him, and especially like this, is so unexpectedly intimate. They've never done it like this before.

Snapping the straps of the panties at Hux’s hips, Dameron says, “Don’t worry, baby. I can fuck you just as hard with them on.”

Hux nods, reaching forward to sink his fingers through Dameron’s thick, dark curls. Dragging his stubbled cheek along Hux’s hip, Dameron mouths at the underside of Hux’s cock, leaving the front of the panties damp and cool, then takes care to adjust them until they’re covering nearly everything. The head of his cock still strains over the top, but as hard as he is, it can’t be helped.

“Do you feel better now?” Dameron asks him, digging his fingers into the flesh of Hux’s ass, spreading his cheeks.

Hux can only let out a strained hum to answer, already heady with want.

“I have one more thing for you. In the front pocket of my bag.”

WIth his heart fluttering, Hux reaches into the pocket on the counter behind him. There are a pair of matching stockings wrapped around a familiar pot of lube. Hux hands both over with a swallow. Dameron takes Hux’s foot to rest on his thigh and rolls one stocking between his fingers so he can ease the first one over Hux’s foot. Hux wonders how he became so confident with female underthings. Thee stockings stop at his upper thigh, a sheer honey color that blends well with the gold thread in the other garments. He repeats the same slow roll of the stocking along Hux’s other leg, and ends with a careful kiss to the inside of each of Hux’s thighs.

“There,” Dameron says, satisfied. He gets to his feet, hands trailing all along Hux’s sides. “Turn and look at yourself, baby.”

Hux doesn’t want to, feels the embarrassment flush over his skin. He’s ready to protest, say something biting in return when Dameron turns Hux bodily before he has the chance to reconsider.

“Look at how gorgeous you are, blushing for it. I’m going to fuck you so hard, baby.”

Hux does look then. It’s always a shock, seeing himself like this—openly _needing_ this, and getting it from someone so unexpected, but the embarrassment fades into a pleasant arousal that makes Hux feel heavy, drowsy and cared for. While Hux admires the fabric, the flush against his chest, the look of his hard nipples against the fabric, he leans against Dameron’s solid frame—stares at the flush of his cheeks, the hard outline of his cock, the flair of his hips at the delicate seam.

Dameron lubes up before reaching down to pull the thong aside so he can slip one finger inside. Hux won’t need much prep, but Dameron seems to enjoy opening him up with his thick, persistent fingers anyway.

Dameron pushes until Hux is leaning over the sink, cock trapped against the counter. Being taller does have its advantages, affording them a fairly easy vantage while fucking like this. Hux almost suggests the bed instead, but Dameron pushes in unexpectedly, shorts still bunched around his thighs, and Hux can only offer a hitched moan at the familiarity of stretching open around Dameron’s girth.

“So good for me, baby,” Dameron is murmuring against the back of his neck, spreading the edge of the babydoll up and over Hux’s hips to keep the fabric out of the way once he starts moving. “Do you let anyone else fuck you like this?”

“You know I don’t,” Hux breathes out, gripping the edge of the counter to keep himself upright once Dameron is moving steadily.

“Good. Tell me why,” Dameron demands, even when Hux knows he’s shaking for it, already trying to hold himself back from orgasm.

“No one else fucks me like you do,” Hux says, arching when Dameron pulls him back by the throat, straining the panties against his erection and sliding his cock deliciously against Hux’s prostate. “Don’t come yet,” Hux demands, reaching back to dig his nails into Dameron’s bottom to get him deeper, grinding himself backward when Dameron stills, shuddering out a moan at the new angle.

“Why?” Dameron asks, palming Hux’s erection to try to persuade him that coming is more important, and Hux recognizes that needy tone, knows exactly the ego stroking Dameron needs to keep him from disobeying, from coming anyway.

Hux locks eyes with him in the mirror, preening with the attention and completely abandoning any earlier embarrassment.

“Because I want to ride your cock.”

It’s hard not to feel so confident when they’re connected in this way. It's a high Hux always finds himself chasing when they’re apart—something he hates thinking about aboard the Finalizer because he can do little to remedy their distance.

Because everything is a negotiation, Dameron says, “Let me come. _Then_ you can ride me.”

Hux eases Dameron free, and Dameron bites at his ear to hide his moan.

“No, I want it now.”

Dameron doesn’t like having his cock touched just after he’s come, so his proposal is an empty one anyway. Hux doesn’t say this, just leaves the room, taking the lube with him to the bed.

Dameron doesn’t let him get far, tackles him to the bed before Hux has a chance to make sure the curtains over the balcony windows are closed, distracts Hux with his mouth and a set of firm hands on either side of his face, ends up on his back with Dameron pushing into him again, twin groans shared between them.

It’s so good Hux holds on for awhile, lets Dameron work himself into a sweating, panting mess. Hux draws his knees up high along Dameron's sides, likes the feel of the stockings warming against his skin. Grips Dameron's biceps, feeling the build up in himself with the steady push against his prostate and the not-nearly-enough drag of his cock against the panties, the material of the babydoll caught between them.

When Hux can feel him getting close, he brushes his fingertips along Dameron’s sides until he pulls back, whining in protest. He's quite ticklish, and Hux is never afraid to use that as a weapon.

“Off,” Hux says, and Dameron eases off, flopping on his back, panting, ready to do as Hux asks so he can come. Hux gets up on his knees so he can slide the thong down his thighs, doesn’t want to ruin them with come.

“ _Stars._ I don’t care. I’ll keep you hidden away in my bunk and we can fuck like this _everyday_.”

Hux hums, ignoring the flutter in his gut, always flustered when Dameron affects him with offhand platitudes. Instead, he concentrates on guiding Dameron’s cock back in, thighs bracketing Dameron’s hips. Dameron splays his palms over Hux’s stomach and under the fabric when he starts to move, digs his thumbs in to encourage a slower, rolling motion.

Dameron doesn’t warn him when he comes, just grunts and pushes his hips up to match Hux’s pace, and keeps moving even when Hux can feel the slide of come down his thighs, rolls the babydoll up to hold it under his arms, away from the wet mess. Dameron’s hand closes over Hux’s erection, encouraging him to follow. Hux dips into the abandoned pot of lube and slicks up Dameron’s fingers. Better.

“You’re gorgeous, baby. Come for me,” Dameron says, and Hux can’t help letting go, the tight pleasure uncoiling something innate, always ready to release itself when Dameron draws it out of him. He contracts around Dameron’s softening cock enough to earn a stuttered grunt, paints his fist and torso with loose streaks of come.

Hux leans down for a kiss, but holds Dameron’s slick hands away from the babydoll. He laughs, blissed out on his own orgasm, while Hux shrugs out of the top, frowning at how sticky it is with sweat. He leaves the stockings on.

Naked, he curls around Dameron, head resting on his chest while they both drift, breaths slowly evening.

“Don’t sleep,” Hux says when Dameron’s idle petting along his arm starts to slow, prods him with his toes for emphasis. They don't have much time.

“Just resting my eyes. I’m awake. I’ll be ready in a minute.” 

This is something he indulges Dameron on more often, post-fuck cuddles. Hux isn’t tired but resists the urge to get up to have a smoke and shower while Dameron sleeps. It will give him time to decide how he’s going to conceal the gift in his jacket—or if it can be secretly worn instead. 

There are always other ways to take advantage when Dameron is nearly asleep, loose-lipped and pliant. He has mixed results with this tactic, but decides to try anyway.

Hux yawns, stretches to make sure Dameron is listening. He wants his question to sound as casual as possible. “Do you know anyone by the name of Kylo Ren?”

“Never heard of him,” Dameron mumbles. It’s automatic and relaxed enough that Hux can't decide if he's telling the truth. Hux will have to push a bit more, unconvinced.

“He claims to be a descendant of Darth Vader.”

“The only living descendants of Darth Vader are his two children. Everyone knows that.”

“The Skywalkers. Yes. And Leia’s son?”

Dameron looks pained, like it’s a subject he’d rather not discuss, and especially not with Hux. That's fine. Hux won’t push his luck on the subject, not when his limbs are heavy with satisfaction and there's a pleasant ache settling into his muscles. It has been nagging at him though, the identity of his masked sometimes-rival. Supreme Leader Snoke’s new apprentice is an irritation to endure, sent to the _Finalizer_ with vague, non-regulation orders and a habit of destroying equipment while terrorizing his crew.

Dameron sighs, keeping his eyes closed. “Ben Solo is dead.”

Hux nods. He’s either lying or doesn’t really know the answer—both are just as likely, Hux decides.

“I thought so.”

It’s clearly not something he’s able to brush off easily, because after a few minutes, Dameron cracks one eye open. “What does he look like—this _Kylo Ren_?”

“I’ve not actually seen his face. He hides it behind a mask. He’s my height and is humanoid. Among the most powerful force users I’ve come across. He—yields a red lightsaber with a prominent crossguard. Has a temper. A sense of entitlement that rivals his force capability.”

“Huh.” Dameron squeezes Hux’s forearm, frowning up at the ceiling. If Kylo Ren and Ben Solo are connected, this is exactly the kind of information the Resistance might find valuable. Hux regrets not properly thinking through this inquiry, but—maybe it matters little. Corruption by the darkside isn't reversible. Hux doesn't believe in most of it, the sorcery of the Force, but that much? That much remains true. 

“Probably, we should forget we had this conversation.”

Even while he’s itching to know more, Hux is unwilling to spoil the moment.

“Yes, I'm inclined to agree.”

* * *

While they’re still dressing, Dameron presses the data chip into Hux’s hand, and nudges at the paper covering the gift once again.

“Next time, wear this one under your clothes.”

Hux takes the data chip from his pocket and exchanges it for Dameron’s, sits at the edge of the bed to shrug on his undershirt and pats the top of his head to survey how mussied it is.

“You think there will be a next time?”

Dameron just smiles. Hux loves the shape of his mouth when he smiles, wanting to believe in its sincerity. Leaning down, he presses a kiss to Hux’s forehead, then another to his mouth—soft, unrushed. A promise neither can keep.

If Ben Solo and Kylo Ren are connected and Starkiller’s speed of completion can be increased with the droid prototype—not to mention whatever the Resistance intends to do with the information on Lor San Tekka—this may be the last time. There’s a great shift in the galaxy coming. Hux can feel it, a tipping point both of them welcome in anticipation of reaching very different goals.

They were never meant to exist together in this borrowed interlude between the main events.

Dameron presses one more careful kiss to Hux’s cheek, and Hux slides his hand around Dameron’s neck to hold him there, nuzzles into his face just a moment longer. Hux gently whispers, “I’ll see you soon.”

A reassurance neither can believe.

In this rented lodging in a rundown outpost along the Inner Rim trade routes, there’s nothing left to say between a First Order General and a Resistance Commander—so Hux lets go, and Dameron nods once before turning away.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is [here](http://www.samedifference61.tumblr.com). More gingerpilot? ~~Maybe.~~ Definitely.


End file.
